


In The Middle Of The Night

by Paula K (Homiless)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Movie, Pre-Slash, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homiless/pseuds/Paula%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-movie, pre-slash h/c where Arthur calls Eames for help and Eames just needs to get there in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Middle Of The Night

In The Middle Of The Night  
In the middle of the night  
We try and try with all our might  
To light a little light down here  
In the middle of the night  
We dream of a million kites  
Flying high above  
the sadness and the fear  
-The Kite Song by Patty Griffin

Eames has no idea how he’ll get there in time. He just knows he has to keep Arthur on the phone as he drives. Portland Street in Manchester. What the fuck was he doing in Manchester at 3am? He wonders, pushing down hard on the gas while still murmuring whatever it takes to keep Arthur talking.

“Arthur, this is important. Stay with me, yeah?” Eames all but begs. If Arthur hears anything too desperate in his voice, he might start to panic. Desperate is not something they’ve ever really done with one another. But right now, Eames thinks desperate is the best word to describe where he’s at at the moment. “Remember when we were in Berlin last year, yeah? And we were working with Katherine and that German bloke,” Eames keeps talking, having no idea where he’s going with this conversation.

“There!” he shouts, seeing Arthur propped up in front of the darkened entrance to the Subway. He pulls up onto the curb and is out of his car.

“Arthur?” he says, seeing him in the dim street lamp. Red has soaked into the side of Arthur’s dress shirt and Eames tries hard not to focus on the way his dark eyes seem to roll back a bit. By the time Eames gets Arthur’s shirt open enough to see the damage, his hand is soaked in Arthur’s blood.

“No, no, no,” he curses, moving away enough to take off his sweater and press it hard into Arthur’s side. “Arthur? Can you stay with me, love? Just a bit longer and we’ll have you sorted out, yeah? Just… hold this here for a moment, yeah?” he instructs, but Arthur’s not really there at the moment. He’s conscious, but just barely. “Yeah… yeah, alright,” Eames says, knowing it’s mostly to himself. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

Lifting Arthur up into his arms, he cradles the slighter man to his chest and keeps him in his lap, pushing the seat of the small car as far back as he can. He belts them in – it’s a bitch but he needs the added press to keep Arthur tucked in tight. He’s trying to stave off the bleeding but has no idea if it’s working.

“Eames,” Arthur whispers, and Eames gets the car into drive and hits the pedal hard again, working out quickly in his mind where the nearest hospital is. “Shouldn’t have taken that job after all,” Arthur tells him and Eames bites hard down onto his lip, shushing Arthur, needing him to be quiet just now.

“No, I don’t guess you should’ve, but I’ve got you now, haven’t I? We’ll get you all sorted out and everything will be alright,” he promises, wishing like hell Cobb or Mal were here instead of him. They are always so much better at this than he is. Damn them and their French holiday, Eames thinks. And damn Arthur, too, for deciding to take a job without them. What in the bloody hell had he been thinking?

“Hospital!” Eames shouts, making Arthur flinch in his lap. “Shhh… sorry, darling,” he soothes, pulling directly up to the door, not giving a shit about where he’s parking. Arthur is bleeding for Christsakes.

“Here!” he shouts, grabbing the attention of two nurses. He’s soaked in blood, too, now and Arthur is slipping from him as Eames hands him over with as much care as he can. “I’ll be right here, Arthur. I’ll be right here,” he tells him over and over, face pressed close. Damn it, he wants to scream, but then Arthur’s eyes are opening again and are locked on Eames as they take him away. Eames sees him trying to say his name and can only stand there as the doors close on them, leaving him numb, alone and aching all over.

“Jesus Christ, Dom. Of course I didn’t know he was in London. I’d just gotten in this evening myself from a job. Had no idea he was here,” Eames is all but shouting into his phone. After a few moments had passed, Eames finally realized he needed to move his car. First, though, he’d washed his hands and pitched the sweater. His shirt had been soaked through with Arthur’s blood, too, and when Eames had seen himself in the mirror inside the loo, he’d nearly sank down onto the floor with shock. Arthur’s blood. No fucking way this should be happening.

He finds a change of clothes in his trunk and gets changed right there in the parking lot. He certainly isn’t aware enough to care who sees and once he’s got on fresh jeans, tee shirt and jacket, it looks almost as though nothing's happened. But everything had happened. And he might be losing Arthur. And Eames needs to call Cobb.

“I have no idea what the job was, alright? He didn’t exactly have the chance to tell me. I simply took the call and broke every law possible in order to get to him so fast,” Eames says, his hand coming to cover his face. He pulls his hand back briefly, realizing his hands are shaking. He bites down on his lip again, this time hard enough to taste blood. “I just know he’s been shot and he’s in surgery and now I’m fucking waiting, aren’t I?” He winces, hearing himself, knowing none of this is Cobb’s fault, but needing to shout out to someone because there is no way that is this fair.

“Yeah… sure…,” he says, more calmly, knowing he’s not doing anyone any good. He’s about lost his fight, anyhow, and then Mal’s on the phone having the bloody nerve to ask Eames how he’s doing.

“I’m fine, love. Just… get here fast as you can, yeah?” he says, feeling a hundred years old under the tremor in her voice. He manages enough to tell her he loves her, too, before snapping his phone shut and leaning on the back of his car with his face buried in his arms. “Arthur,” he says, just once, because he could keep on saying it. He could get lost in that name just now.

When Mal and Dom show up, Eames is asleep – head cradled on his jacket, face creased with sleep. Mal doesn’t wait – simply tugs him up and holds Eames close, stroking his hair and trying not to cry. Dom waits it out, letting his wife do the comforting before shuffling them all off to get coffee and sit where they can talk.

“He’s been out of surgery for a few hours now. Bullet went straight through. Didn’t do serious damage – he’ll just need to rest for a bit. They’ll come and tell me when he’s awake,” he tells them, the relief clear on his pale face. “Don’t know what the hell he was thinking,” he grumbles, feeling Mal’s hand come to rest on his arm.

“We were gone. And you know Arthur – he likes to prove himself, no matter if he needs to or not. He never feels good enough or that people take him serious enough,” Mal tries, but Eames just shakes his head.

“He should’ve called me. I’d have taken a job with him – he knows I more than trust him. More than know what he’s capable of, too,” Eames says roughly, his plan to end whoever did this to Arthur obvious by the expression on his face.

“Eames, you know it’s not just us that Arthur feels he has to prove himself to, you know. You two go at each other like children, but underneath all that – you know what he thinks of you,” Mal tells him and Eames stares at her, face flushing.  
Arthur, if Eames was honest, made him want to be better. Better than a thief or a gambler. Better than who he is. Arthur... means so much more to Eames than he’s ever told him and somehow Mal can see it all like it's written on his face.

He’s about to start talking again when a nurse comes to fetch him, telling him that his friend is awake and would very much like to see him. Eames stands, scrubbing his face with his hands. He nods to Mal and Dom, promising to come out soon so they can go back to visit.  
He's led through a maze of curtains and doorways - reminds him of a dreamscape, really, and he reaches into his pocket, briefly feeling his totem. He normally hates being in hospital, but he barely notices now. He simply needs to see Arthur.

The attendant pushes open a curtain wide enough for Eames to step through. Arthur’s eyes are closed and he looks so bloody small under the white sheets and blankets. Eames steps quietly to his side, staring down at him, taking in his pale, pale features. The way his dark brown lashes fan out over his bruised, but perfect cheekbones. Before he can stop himself, he brushes his thumb lightly over that perfect skin. It’s enough to send Arthur’s dark brown eyes fluttering.

“Hey,” Eames says quietly, forcing a grin – it wouldn’t do to let Arthur see him frowning.

“Hey,” Arthur says, voice weak and rough. Eames reaches for the glass of water on his bedside table, holding it so that Arthur can take a drink if he likes.

“You look a bit better than when I last saw you,” Eames says encouragingly, holding the cup while Arthur takes a few sips. He sets the water back down and as his hand passes by, Arthur reaches out to stop it. Eames watches as Arthur’s long, elegant fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Eames,” Arthur says, sounding better, but seemingly at a loss of what more to say.

“Hey… you’re going to be fine,” he says, sounding a bit anxious, but his smile is more natural as he gazes down on Arthur.

“Umm… Mal and Dom are here to see you – I promised I’d let them come back and see you. You want me to go get them?” he asks, unsure what to do with himself now that he sees Arthur is going to be fine.

“No. Not yet…. I mean, I’m glad they’re here and I want to see them, but… I don’t want you to go just yet,” Arthur says, wincing as he tries to shift in the bed and shift his pillows around.

“Hey… don’t do that,” Eames chides, nodding to Arthur’s pillows. Arthur has to let go of his wrist in order for him to do it, though. “Let me, yeah?” he suggests, being so careful as he tucks Arthur’s pillows more firmly behind his head. “There… better?” he asks, searching Arthur’s face for signs of discomfort.

Arthur reaches for Eames’ hand again, holding on more tightly this time. “Better.”  
Eames smiles nervously down at him, unsure as to what to do next. Then Arthur starts to speak again.

“I shouldn’t have taken the job with Martin. Cobb didn’t trust him when we worked together before, but I thought…. I thought I could handle it. Clearly I couldn’t,” he says, berating himself.  
Eames can’t stand the look of self-hatred on Arthur’s face, but is glad to finally know who did this to him. He makes sure not to bring up Martin’s name - he doesn't want to tip Arthur off as to what he's planning and there won’t be anything left of the man by the time Eames is finished, anyway.

“Next time, you’ll call me, yeah?” is all Eames says about the job and Arthur glances up, clearly grateful.

“Yeah. Next time,” Arthur agrees quietly, letting silence settle between them for a long moment. “You saved my life, Eames. I… don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come for me,” Arthur says, and Eames’ heart drops down somewhere around his knees at the admission.

“I’ll always come for you, Arthur. Always,” is all Eames can think of to say. Because no matter what, Eames knows he will. Whenever Arthur needs him, nothing will ever stop him from showing up.

Arthur simply smiles up at Eames, bringing their hands up to his lips so he can kiss Eames’ palm. Eames seems to realize right then that he’s not going anywhere. Hooking a chair with his ankle, he pulls it in close to the bed and just sits while Arthur entwines their fingers. A nurse will come eventually, he thinks; he can send for Mal and Dom then, but right now, Eames knows he’s right where he’s supposed to be.


End file.
